


Strength of Memory

by HidingintheInkwell



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, fluff pure and simple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 16:45:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingintheInkwell/pseuds/HidingintheInkwell
Summary: Abbie has been interning at Albion Mental Institution for nearly a year. One day, a sad blond man gets a mysterious visitor, and her life changes forever.





	Strength of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is based of a super cute one I read YEARS ago on ff.net but for the life of me cannot find it again. So I made my own!

Albion Mental Institution is a peaceful place, built in the bones of an old hospital, it had been renovated to include a large indoor atrium dominating the middle of the rustic building and visible from all three floors. The grounds were sprawling and filled with cobbled pathways, benches, trees, and flowering shrubs, but none of it quite held a candle to the atrium. To step through the glass doors that closed it off from the sterilized white halls and bustling staff was to step into another world. Birches and flowering dogwoods cast welcoming shade over the well kept space and paths led through the small gardens that held fragrant flowers and vegetables alike, spiraling inward until it came to a rest at the base of a moderately sized wishing fountain that gurgled pleasantly year round. It was small and ancient looking, green lichens growing up through the cracks and adding to the charm. Small cherubs accompanied mythical fawns and elves as they gathered around an impish looking young man leaning against the stone tree that supported the upper bowl of the fountain. There was a rumor that the fountain was remains from the old hospital itself, a courtyard piece of sorts for visitors to get away from the horrors the hospital saw regularly, and that it held magical properties. 

 

I wasn’t so sure of the magical properties aspect myself, but many of the nurses and orderlies who’d been here many years swear up and down they’d seen miracles happen in that fountain. Personally, I thought the only thing miraculous about the piece was that it hadn’t yet crumbled or ever seemed to need a piece replaced. Melanie, the nurse I was shadowing when I’d first started my internship, had explained to me during the tour that it was fed by some underground spring, which explained the lack of plumbing repair. Whatever the reasoning, the soft gurgling always gave a comforting background noise to the warm atmosphere and was a rather strong contributing factor to why it was my favorite place to go while on break. It was a place the orderlies often liked to bring the camler residents too, the mild humidity helping to calm them when it was looking like it was going to be a bad day, the quiet helping those with the overactive minds… 

 

I’ve learned a lot since starting here. I learned that the third floor was where the more violent residents were kept, their rooms soundproofed and well locked but under constant supervision for their own safety and it was a place I was not allowed to go alone. The second floor held the doctors’ exam rooms and the vegetables; the residents who never moved, never spoke, were so far into their own heads that they weren’t even aware there was a world passing them by. I only ever went to the second floor when nurses sent me on errands or to help bring a resident to one of the exam rooms. I spend most of my time on the first floor where we kept the more independent residents. Some were sleepwalkers who had to have their doors locked at night, some were schizophrenic and could often be found wandering the halls having conversations with people only they could see, we had an older gentleman who was convinced he was Caesar and that one of the morning orderlies was secretly Brutus and was out to kill him, and then there was Arthur. 

 

In my opinion, Arthur had the saddest story of almost any of the residents. He was somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, though no one was quite sure, but he had an almost boyish look to him that made him look so much younger. He’d been at AMI for about five years, had been brought in by a good samaritan who’d found him wandering along the highway soaking wet and looking straight out of a Renaissance fair. He claimed to be King Arthur of Camelot and that he was looking for his knights. When doctors questioned him, he told them that the last thing he remembered was a battle, his manservant over him as he fell, and then waking up on a foggy island in the middle of a lake. He’d swam to shore, only to find everything changed, roads of stone dominated by metal monsters that spewed foul smoke and people dressed strangely. I’d seen photos of when he’d been brought in. Sure there were some strange fashion trends now-a-days, but twenty-first century had nothing on chainmail and leather pants. 

 

In the time I’d been here, I’ve never seen him interact with anyone other than the occasional orderlie or nurse when they came to bring him his medication. When he wasn’t in an appointment or in group sessions, he was in the Atrium, crouched by the fountain and staring into the blue-green water like it held every answer in the universe. I’ve sat with him a few times when on my break or when asked to keep him some company (a task I was typically assigned to fill lulls in days; give the residents some companionship with conversations or games). He never talked directly to me, but he’d tell the best stories about battles won, of hunting through the woods with his trusted knights, wandering through the castle during summer evenings, of mundane things like wandering the villages or teasing his manservant. I heard a lot about the man he called Merlin, about his pale lanky form and jet black hair, ears that were way too big, and eyes bluer than the purest sapphire. Merlin, it seemed, was a man who’d follow his king to the ends of the earth and back again. 

 

I’d read the legends of King Arthur back in high school, had learned about King Arthur and his knights, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and the wise sorcerer Merlin, an elderly man who’s description always reminded me of Dumbledore from the Harry Potter books and in no way matched the description of the Merlin from Arthur’s mind. Arthur had a way of talking about these people with such conviction, though. How Gwaine hated raisins and would often throw them at someone if he found them in his mix, or that out of all of them Lancelot had the worst sense of humor. I’d asked Melanie if maybe he was a literature major who’d gotten a knock on the head at some point, but she’d just shrug, saying that there were no marks on him when he’d been examined, no shadows in the CAT scans or x-rays, nothing to explain why he seemed convinced that he was fifth century royalty. “He’s just nuts,” she’d told me, voice low as we watched him through the glass walls. Normally I’d be inclined to believe her, but there was something about the blond man with the sad eyes. 

 

The day had been pretty normal. I had my classes that morning, grabbed lunch with my buddy Arson, and then went back to my apartment to change for my internship. It had been cloudy all morning, the clouds threatening rain right up until I was walking from my car to the AMI doors where it decided to unleash its wet fury in one big dump. I just narrowly avoided starting my shift looking like a drowned rat. Melanie had the day off so I got my task from Burton, a large burly man with an impressive beard. Everyone had been fairly quiet so he wanted me watching the reception desk, keeping an eye on the screens and basically just chilling there until someone needed me for something. Accepting my assignment with a grin, I pulled out one of my textbooks and alternated between reading about the Rise of the Roman Empire and watching the people milling through the Atrium. There was sweet Miss Berty, an elderly schizophrenic woman who’d been wheelchair bound ever since one of her talking rabbits convinced her it would be a good idea to jump out her third floor window, being pushed through the gardens by her petite and  _ very  _ pregnant daughter. Sitting on a bench under one of the dogwoods, a sketchpad perched on his knee, was Mister Xavier, a man in his late thirties with severe bipolar disorder who’d been brought in after a suicide attempt brought on by the death of his wife. On his good days he was an artist, drawing the most beautiful and lifelike pictures. 

 

My eyes skipped over them to land on a very familiar blond head. Arthur was dressed in blue today, a loose fitting cotton long sleeved shirt over brown pants with his feet bare and curled under him as he leaned into the side of the fountain. His hair was hanging limp today, a little shaggy since the barber had been on vacation the last few weeks and I could see where it hung down nearly to his dull blue eyes. There was a wad of red fabric clutched in his paled fingers, one of the only things they’d let him keep after admittance. Today was visitation day, and I knew soon Miss Berty’s daughter would be taking her back to the visitation lounge to see the rest of her family, and someone would be coming by to collect Mister Xavier to go see his daughter and her husband, but no one would come to see Arthur. No one ever came. The Roman Empire now far from my attention, I focused on the blond man who was leaning so far over the edge of the pool that I felt a rise of apprehension that he was about to try and drown himself. No, I reasoned. Not drown himself. Arthur wasn’t one they had to worry about trying to harm himself, even on the bad days. He looked more like he was searching for something in the rippling water. 

 

A loud crash of thunder rang out through the halls and I jumped so hard I nearly toppled my seat. The lights all flickered briefly before settling, and I breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t gone out. We had a back-up generator, but I could only imagine the bedlam that would erupt if the power went out, however briefly it would be. Already I could hear the howls starting up from the upper floors, the walkie talkie I’d been left with squawking as staff radioed back and forth, redirecting to those who needed help most. I closed my book, giving my attention to Arthur, who hadn’t even moved more than to touch his fingertips to the surface of the water. I considered moving him away, I’d read somewhere that lightning could travel miles through the ground and into any source of water, and had been known to electrocute people in their showers or short circuit washing machines, but I was distracted by a wave of cold wet air and the sound of squeaking shoes on the linoleum. Putting the thoughts of electrocution via wishing fountain from my mind, I turned to offer the newcomer a smile. 

 

He was an elderly gentleman, white hair pulled back into a ponytail and matching beard combed out and well kept. He wore one of those clear rain ponchos over a plaid shirt and brown leather jacket, the hems of his blue jeans more than a little wet from walking through the puddles, and he wore a pair of brown leather work boots that looked surprisingly dry. He carried a carved wooden walking stick and as he came closer I noticed a slight limp in his steps. “Hi! Welcome to Albion! Can I help you with anything?” The elderly man smiled beneath his beard, bright blue eyes twinkling with a mirth that could have belonged to someone forty years younger. “Good day, lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” I offered him a laugh and a nod. “Most definitely, the way it was coming down out there, you’d think we hadn’t had rain in months. Are you here to see someone?” That was the canned question they always had us ask because it was open and unassuming. The elderly man gave me another smile, nodding as he leaned against the counter. “I’m here to see Arthur Pendragon? I’m an old friend.” 

 

I tried to hide my surprise, but was pretty sure I was failing horribly. Arthur had been here some odd five years, and not once in that time had he had any visitor. If this man was an old friend, where had he been all that time? As though reading my mind, the man’s eyes seemed to dull and fall. “I’m afraid I’ve been away for some time and only recently returned. A friend informed me that Arthur had been brought here, but they were a little… delayed with the message.” I nodded, accepting his excuse, regardless of how flimsy it seemed. Hey, stranger stories had come through those doors. Instead I pulled up the visitor’s log on the computer. “Can I see your ID real fast, sir? I just need to log you in and then I can take you to Mister Pendragon.” The light returned to the man’s eyes as he dug a worn leather wallet from his pocket, pulling out his ID and handing it over. Emrys Farland, it read, showing a picture of the white haired man with hair several inches shorter. I quickly entered the information into the log before handing back the little plastic card and rising to my feet. “He’s just in the Atrium, if you’ll follow me.” The  _ squeak-thunk  _ of his boots and walking stick followed me down to the glass double doors and we were soon enveloped in the sticky warmth of the atrium’s recycled atmosphere. 

 

The Atrium was empty as I led him down the paths toward the fountain, its quiet gurgle nearly drowned out by the drumming of rain on the glass roof. We were halfway there when Mister Farland stopped, leaning heavily on his staff, eyes deep and sad as he stared over rose bushes and flower gardens to the curved blond head. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue on my own.” I nodded, studying his face for any signs that it would be a bad idea, but all I saw was a sad old man. “It’s not normal protocol, but I don’t think my supervisors would mind me giving the two of you a few minutes.” The old man nodded his thanks, offering me another smile before I turned and walked back toward the doors, ducking behind a birch tree right before I got to the door, though. From here I could see and hear without being seen or heard. I was curious, there was no denying it, but I also wanted to be on hand in case something happened. 

 

From my vantage point, I watched Mister Farland take a deep breath before continuing on to the fountain, coming up behind Arthur without alerting the blond man to his presence. “They were the bravest men I ever knew,” I heard Arthur say softly, eyes not leaving the red scrap of fabric clutched in his lap. “They’d have followed me to the ends of the world, regardless of the dangers we might face… but none of them could shine a candle to Merlin…” Arthur’s voice was distant, wistful, and I watched Mister Farland shift just slightly, putting more weight on the walking stick. “Who’s Merlin?” he asked, voice low and rich. Arthur didn’t even so much as twitch. “He was my manservant, completely useless on the best of days, always getting himself into trouble, not a respectful bone in his body…” A small smile curled Arthur’s lips, one of the rare ones full of secret jokes and forgotten laughter. “But he was brave, braver than any knight I’d ever known. Or just too stupid for his own good…always shooting his mouth off and getting himself into trouble, I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to save his ass from one thing or another.” A brief silence followed his words, but then Mister Farland was leaning forward as if about to share a secret, but what left his mouth shocked me. “I seem to remember,  _ sire _ ,” the word dripping with mocking, “that it was usually me saving  _ your  _ royal pratishness from danger.” 

 

An immediate change came over Arthur at those words. His eyes widened and he straightened, turning slowly to look up at the bearded visitor. “Who…” his face scrunched in thought before it smoothed, mouth falling open in recognition. “You…” He was on his feet in an instant, hands trembling as he reached out toward the leather clad shoulders. I hadn’t seen Mister Farland shed his rain poncho, but I guess he must have because it was no longer there. What I saw next though, I would always be hard pressed to explain, even after seeing it with my own eyes. As Arthur’s fingers came into contact with the older man’s leather shoulders, his age seemed to melt away, hair darkening and receding, wrinkles smoothing out until the elderly man had been replaced by a tall, lanky young man with jet black hair, bright blue eyes that glowed with mischief, and too-big ears that stuck out to the sides. Just like Arthur’s descriptions, I was looking at Merlin himself. 

 

The clatter of the wooden staff on stone hid my surprised gasp as I watched Arthur’s eyes roam over the youthful figure, hands never leaving contact, as though he was afraid Merlin would disappear if he so much as blinked. “You’re here…” I heard him whisper in amazement. “You’re really here… but where…” Merlin raised a hand to cup Arthur’s elbow comfortingly. “The Sidhe Court experiences time much differently than we do. To them, five years is but a few seconds. They knew you’d awoken, but had figured they didn’t need to rush the news. I am  _ so sorry  _ I wasn’t there when you awoke, that you were thrown into this new world alone…” As Merlin’s voice trailed off, I could see the blue of his eyes that Arthur waxed poetic about so often dull with unshed tears, and I felt my own face growing wet too. He really had had no clue that Arthur was here, I could only imagine what he went through when he finally found out. I rubbed at my wet eyes with the sleeve of my uniform before giving the two men my attention again. Arthur’s face was wet as he continued to stare into the pale man’s face. 

 

“You really are here…” The man called Merlin smiled wide and pulled the shorter man into a hug. “Let’s go home, Arthur,” I heard him say. His voice was barely more than a whisper but it carried even over the sounds of the fountain and the storm. As I watched, a soft yellow glow seemed to surround the embracing men, growing in brightness until they were nothing but black silhouettes, then nothing at all. The space they’d occupied was empty, even the staff was gone, like they’d never been there. I blinked once, then twice, then left my hiding place to examine it closer. I searched the area, but could find no sign that the two men had just been standing right there. In fact, there wasn’t even so much as a boot scuff on the stones or a place where the lichen had been displaced. I was just about to give up in frustration when a flash of red from under one of the bushes. I thought maybe it was just a rose that had fallen and gotten kicked under the shrub, but I bent down anyway. 

 

It wasn’t a rose, it was a handkerchief, worn around the edges and a deep shade of red. As I flattened it out across my palms to examine it better, I saw slight pulls in the side facing me. Curious, I turned it over only to feel the air leave my lungs.  _ To A.E. Thank you for everything, M.E. & A.P.  _ was written in delicate gold thread, and beneath it was the tiny embroidery of a dragon. I felt tears falling down my cheeks as I stared down at the piece of fabric, running my thumb over the dragon before tucking it into my smock pocket for safe keeping and turning to head back to my post. I had no idea how long I’d been there, and was honestly a little surprised that nobody had come to find me. 

 

As I sat back down in the desk chair, my eyes fell on the visitors log. Emrys Farland’s name was no longer there. I frowned. Had someone come by and deleted it? Pulling up the history, I scrolled through trying to find it, like maybe a glitch had bumped it to another date or time, but there was nothing. No sign that I had logged a Emrys Farland, or even a Merlin. My frown deepened. I know I’d typed it in, hell there were still damp footprints near the door! Though those could easily have come from anyone… Just then, Burton came down the hall, focus on his tablet as his sneakers squeaked across the linoleum, reminiscent of the man who’d come in old and left young. “Hey, Burton?” I asked, gaining his attention after a moment. “Did you see Arthur leave?” The big man frowned. “Who?” 

 

Now it was my turn to frown. I really needed to stop that or I’d have wrinkles before I was thirty. “Arthur Pendragon. He was just here by the fountain, but then he got a visitor and disappeared. You haven’t seen him have you?” Burton was looking at me like I’d lost my mind. Not the most comforting thought when you worked at one. “Abbie, there is no Arthur Pendragon here, never has been.” I opened my mouth to protest, but quickly shut it with a click. Burton had been here for nearly twenty years, and I didn’t want to risk him thinking I was crazier than I was already starting to feel. “My mistake, sorry Burton.” He nodded, eyes still slightly suspicious, but then his tablet beeped with a notification and he was hurrying off down the hall. I sat back in my chair. I’d been interning here nearly a year now, had seen Arthur at that stupid fountain  _ every day…  _ there was no way I could imagine the blond man for an entire year, imagine the conversations I’d had with others about him, the stories he’d told… I did a quick search in the resident directory but again came up with a very definite No Match Found. Huh… Through my smock pocket I could feel the outline of the handkerchief, and felt a small smile tug at my lips. Maybe it didn’t matter after all. They were reunited now. If the legends were true and they really were the figures from my books, then they’d be just fine. Reopening my textbook, I went back to reading about the Roman Empire. Outside, watery sunlight peeked through the clouds, casting a rainbow across the puddles. Everything was calm in Albion.

  
  



End file.
